To Get A Crutch and its Perks
by Skyriia
Summary: One of the best things about newsboys is when they really care about something, they'll do anything to achieve it. And they really want Crutchy to have a good birthday.


Newsboys don't make a lot of money—to state the obvious. What they lack in funds however, they make up for in affection for their friends. However, there are points throughout the year where this affection can't always make up for an inability to provide a birthday present. Not that most expected presents mind you, but there is the general belief that they at least deserved them.

Probably the most deserving of a present is this particular newsboy by the name of Crutchy.

He is not a particularly notable figure upon first glance. Tall, lanky, and perceivably less charismatic than the other boys, he does not stand out in a crowd. Unless of course, you count the crutch and notable smile he often bears. But it's mostly the crutch people pay attention to. Great for selling, terrible for getting others to treat him normally. Except for most of the Manhattan newsboys, the ones who don't, learn quickly by example or persuasion.

Now, Crutchy's crutch poses a bit of a problem most of the time. Over the past few years, he grew nearly six inches in height, or so Kloppman says, and his crutch didn't fit him as well anymore. Not to mention it is old and more than a bit ragged. After passing a carpenter's shop near the Broadway Junction, Kid Blink concocted what he claims is the best idea of the year. He, along with the rest of the Manhattan newsboys lodging at Daune Street would save up their money and buy a brand new crutch for Crutchy's birthday.

That decision was made nearly six months ago.

Crutchy's birthday is today.

And he's completely unaware of the plan. Which for newsboys is much harder said than done. It's very difficult to hide something when you live in the same room as thirty-plus males in a lodging house that serves even more than that. But it's a lot easier when the whole place is in on it. Even Kloppman. Crutchy stayed in the dark—as far as the boys know even when Tumbler nearly told him in excitement a few days back. If it wasn't for Jack's quick thinking, the boys idea would have been completely exposed. But Jack Kelley is if nothing else resourceful. And thus the perfect cover was born: a trip to the vaudeville house Irving Hall. Medda was more than willing to provide the tickets and put the boys on a payment plan—they often refused her hand outs, she was accustomed to this by now. All Crutchy cared about was the fact he didn't have to walk up the stairs—first floor seats, something he was astounded by. He didn't think his birthday would get any better.

At 6:00 PM Crutchy with thirty newsboy trailing behind him clamored into the sparkling Irving Hall, dressed in their best and still mildly self-conscious of the holes on their shirts elbows and pants knees. But they cheered the loudest at Medda stepped onto the stage and even more so as her fellow performers came out one by one. Crutchy was the loudest of them all, having received a rose from one of the girls—the boys were quite excited by this.

About halfway through the show, Kid Blink and Mush slipped out the back to get the goods. It would take them the rest of the show since the train had stopped running for the night. But that was fine, Crutchy hardly even noticed—all except for Jack's nervous glances towards the entrance. Everything had to be perfect after all.

At 8:30 PM Blink and Mush returned. They arrived from backstage which confused Crutchy quite a bit, he didn't know of anything backstage besides some costumes and such. But he trusted Blink and Mush, both of them being two years and one year older than him, respectively. Heck, Crutchy had only just recently reached the same height as Kid Blink who was still growing quite a bit himself.

Once the hall was cleared, Medda returned to the boys and told them they would have a little over half an hour until the hall would be closing up. Everyone had to go home after all. So with stumbled effort, his makeshift crutch nearly breaking twice, Crutchy was led to the backstage. Cigarettes and cheap brandy swiped from an old drunk is passed between them. Medda wants to say something but she refrains. After all, Crutchy is turning 15 today, the scolding could wait until later.

When every member of the party felt dull warmth in their bellies, Crutchy speaks up above the clamor and says, "Hey Jack, what're you guys up to huh?"

Jack stops his conversation with Racetrack—who had been coming to Manhattan more frequently in the past few weeks and turns to Crutchy with an almost awkward smile. "Hm? What? Come on Crutchy it's ya birthday!" He pauses for a beat and slides closer, a cigarette still between his lips. "You'se having fun right?"

Crutchy grins and shoves Jack shoulder lightly, a typical response. "O'course! It's just; we usually go back to the roof for parties, right?"

In this, Crutchy was correct. The lodging house technically does not allow for drinking, the nuns that come by and watch over the place demand that such things as well as swearing, cigarettes, cigars and profane materials are left at the door. Most of the time the boys don't even know what half of that means so they try not to push boundaries. Kloppman however has a very easy policy, if he doesn't see it then it's not there. Plus he knows better than to try and stop some of the boys, they're too crafty for him. And there is a place he never goes, the roof. Most functions not sponsored by the church are held there. It was only in recent years that most of the boys in attendance of this party were allowed to join the older kids on the roof. To miss out on such a thing was obviously a huge deal so Crutchy was starting to get suspicious.

Jack's expression relaxed and he stood from his seat, leisurely making his way to the seat next to Crutchy, easily shooing Pin—a younger newsie, off it. "Oh, that's all huh?" Jack begins, taking on a mildly posh tone. "Suppose the guys wanna give the present to ya before we go back." He says it loud enough to be heard over the many conversations currently taking place. It took a few minutes before everyone was finally hushed. And when they were, Jack cleared his throat and fiddled with his red bandana—he wasn't much of a speaker, at least not yet. Racetrack headed behind the stack of animal masks and Jack took that as his cue. "Hey uh Crutchy close your eyes."

"Why, Jack?"

"What good is a surprise if you see it right off huh? Close em would'ya."

It took a moment of hesitation, but eventually the younger closed his eyes and at the request of Mush put a hand over his eyes for good measure. A dull mutter vibrated around the room as Racetrack came out of his hiding place, holding the brand new crutch. It was a little taller than Crutchy actually needed—they had to measure based off Kid Blink and then added a bit for growth. Who said newsies couldn't think ahead? But it was stable and decently made. Months of scrimping and forgoing meals and if Crutchy liked it, then it would be worth it.

Glances were exchanged between the newsies as they silently decided who among them would be best to present the present to him. Eventually, Kid Blink stepped forward as he was the one who devised the plan initially.

He fiddled with the patch over his eye for a moment, and then took the crutch and walked up to the birthday boy whose eyes remained dutifully closed. "Alright Crutchy um, we all uh—we—well happy birthday and all that." Kid Blink has never been good with heartfelt messages. At least not in public. Crutchy understood that, probably better than anyone.

Racetrack had to gently nudge the boy's side for him to finally open his eyes. Breaths stalled as Crutchy first took in the smooth looking surface of the crutch and the finish around the pad. "That's for me?" He chokes out and reached forward slowly, unsure. Blink says nothing, just puts the crutch in the other's hands. Silence hangs over them for a while as the boy runs his hands along the surface and everyone ignores the already drying tears on his cheeks and the light sniffling.

"Well go on and try it out would'ya?" Racetrack is the one to break the silence, there was no better newsie to do so. The scrappy Italian wasn't a fan of uncomfortable silences.

Crutchy shoots the other an annoyed glance and begins to stand. The old crutch is left to the side, not quite forgotten but no longer needed. A sudden whine from Crutchy makes the others freeze. "What do you guys think I am huh? A giant!" His tone is playful and the whole room erupts into laughter, those nearest to him pat his shoulder, rub his arm, provide any sort of touch that they can. None of them were ever good at expression affection verbally, physical contact was always preferred.

"Look at me, huh!" Crutchy laughs as he walks forward, still awkward due to the size but his demeanor is gleeful. How sure he feels knowing that this one—although he didn't make it himself, would not break on him. They could have all taken turns telling him how much he means to them and it still wouldn't have the same effect as this. Realizing that this couldn't have been cheap, that they had to save for goodness knows how long to get the money for it, Crutchy felt a lump in his throat form. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying again because now everyone is making jokes and patting him on the back. Now the liveliness of the party has returned and emotions like that would have to wait. At least until they got back to the lodging house.

Awkward dancing and silly games became the boys interests for a little while longer. The more Crutchy moved around the more accustom he became with his newfound crutch. So much so that when one of the eldest newsies declared they should head back before curfew, he wasn't worried. The renewed independence and mobility was astoundingly invigorating for him.

He doesn't lead the boys back to the house. That is just fine, he isn't suited for the role anyway. All he cares about is Jack, Blink, Mush, Jack and a few others hanging near him, somewhere around the middle as he walks. This time he's certain they aren't walking slow on purpose to stay with him. This time he's certain they aren't laughing at him or looking at his hindrance—no, his crutch. That, more than anything, is the best present.

Of course he wouldn't tell them that. It's hard to explain that sort of thing to them.

The vaudeville tickets stick out of his Crutchy's back pocket as they make their way back to the lodge. He wonders if maybe they can go back soon. Just so he can make sure to enjoy the house as much as he could. And besides, he had to show off his new crutch to Medda, maybe she'd give him a kiss in congratulations. Yeah, that would be really cool and somehow felt totally possible. A confidence Crutchy doesn't expect. Then laughs under his breath when he realizes he still won't be able to say it to anyone. It was baby steps then, for lack of a better word, that would lead to a more confident and self-assured Crutchy. That was just fine. He knew he would get there one of these days.

And until then he wasn't going to let the guys live it down that they went and got so sentimental on him. It would be the best way to convey his appreciation. In a small, jabbing sort of way. This sort of thing was always a touchy subject, he was pretty sure only Racetrack would be the one to see him cry. Couldn't tell anyone why, Racetrack has that sort of effect on people. More of a softie than he looked. At least that's how Crutchy felt about it.

One by one, the newsies made it back to the lodging house and deposited their rent for the night. Crutchy tried to turn his in, but Kloppman refused. "It's your birthday boy. You think I'm letting you give me a cent?" Crutchy's cheeks color a bit and the rest of the boys laugh tiredly. "Get on up to bed, all of you. Work is still in the morning!" He shoos the boys upstairs with frantic waves of his hands and several claps. Some scramble up the stairs, others take their time jeering insults at the older man, most of which earned a glare and resulted in them scampering away.

Crutchy is the last up the stairs, as usual since he didn't want anyone waiting behind him, self-conscious as always. But as soon as he is in the room he is pulled into hugs and another round of pats from the others who arrived late after selling the evening edition. A newsboy Crutchy barely knew by the name of Drip, played a fiddle, the same one he had arrived with two years earlier and the room erupted into another round of laughter and dance.

The crutch slips from his hands several times, but this time he's not as worried about it as he dances and laughs with his friends and brothers until Kloppman stomps up the stairs and demands they go to sleep. And he refuses to leave until everyone is in bed and the fiddle has been put away. But Crutchy can't sleep just yet—even as the others snore around him. His chest is too full with warmth and his body sings with gratefulness. How could he have gotten so lucky? The boy who barely survived his younger years and was tossed aside by most. Sure, this wasn't the best place in the world to some. And sure it wasn't a party with cake and decorations. But he didn't need all that. How could he, when gestures like this could move full buildings with their sincerity?

Racetrack who is sleeping there for the night is still up he notes, and chewing on a cigar. "Hey, Race," Crutchy whispers harshly and the Italian looks up, his expression barely lit up by the light from the moon.

"Yeah?" Racetrack whispers in return, his speech slightly muffled.

At first, he isn't sure how to express his gratitude. Then with the definite snore of Jack, Crutchy leans from his bed a little and speaks. "I uh—thanks again, you know for everything."

As far as Crutchy knew, Racetrack was the only one that had ever seen Crutchy complain about his old crutch. The only one that had seen him in tears over how he felt about not being able to get away from certain bullies and being judged for it. Jack may be Crutchy's best friend but there was something about the Brooklyn newsboy that made Crutchy become a tell all sort of guy. Must be the poker face, Crutchy is sure of it. It may have been the other boys who orchestrated it, but if he had to guess, he was pretty sure it was Race who put the idea of it in Blink's head in the first place.

Of course he didn't think about how the others were already aware but didn't want to bother him with it.

But he was right about one thing. Racetrack did help to pass the idea along and organize things a bit, help take collection so to speak. Some days, he was more of a Manhattan newsie than a Brooklyn one it seemed. He reaches over and pushes Crutchy's forehead lightly. "Forget about it." A typical response, one to be taken as a you're welcome. "Get some sleep will ya? We'se selling tomorrow." Racetrack lays back, tucks away his cigar and rolls over.

Leaky roof and all, the newsboys lodging house is pretty nice—especially with friends so willing to do so much. Crutchy stays up for a little while longer and when he finally goes to sleep he swear she can still hear the concert at the vaudeville hall and for the first time in a while, falls asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

This story was written for the Newsies Pape Selling Competition. The prompt used is Vaudeville Tickets for the task of writing about a party being thrown for my favorite newsie.

Word count: 2,788


End file.
